


how to get married: an angsty guide by emma perkins

by exactlyemma



Series: happy(ish) paulkins [2]
Category: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Apotheosis, Alternate Universe - No Wiggly (Black Friday), Character Death, F/M, Marriage, cause yeah, does jane count as a major character?, it's sadder than i intended for it to be, sad emma, some characters are mentioned that i did not tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27845434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exactlyemma/pseuds/exactlyemma
Summary: 'Fiancee' was a weird word. Emma never thought anyone would want to be her fiancee. After she moved to Guatemala she could hardly keep herself together, how would she ever help take care of someone else? But there's something about that Paul Matthews. He makes marriage seem nice, rather than a deathtrap. Maybe Emma's good for something after all.a kinda-sequel to my other paulkins one-shot, but it can stand alone but for some random mentions about a ring pop which isn't plot relevant, you don't have to read the first for this to make sense :).
Relationships: Emma Perkins & Jane Perkins, Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Series: happy(ish) paulkins [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040001
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	how to get married: an angsty guide by emma perkins

**Author's Note:**

> so... i wrote this thinking 'happy paulkins wedding sequel to proposal!! :D' and then i opened the document, an hour passed, and i had three pages on jane. i kinda dig it though, so this is what you get. not to worry there is still paulkins fluff, it's just longer and there's more angst-y type stuff in the beginning
> 
> tw for mental illness depression-ish stuff + character death that is in canon but i figured i'd warn you anyway. emma's not doin so great

Fiancee was a funny word. It wasn’t bad, Emma didn’t think, but still. It felt weird in her head, sounded weird when it rolled off her tongue. It didn’t really roll, as a matter of fact. Kind of slipped out after a moment of stutter. 

It wasn’t because she didn’t _want_ to be Paul’s fiancee. She was pretty sure that was one of the only things she wanted. She had just never pictured herself as being anyone’s fiancee. She was Emma Perkins, Hatchetfield’s generational fuck-up. There was at least one a generation, and it was a seat Emma had gladly fallen into. If she was already a disappointment before they’d even met, there was nothing she could do to make anyone dislike her more than they already did. It was an easy way to distance herself. Nobody wanted to hang out with a disappointment.

But it seemed, Paul did. In fact, it seemed Paul didn’t think she was a disappointment at all. When all her life that was all she had summed up to. A name on a paper that had been hiding for as long as she could remember. Hiding in baggy clothes and getting steady C’s to get through school. Being told she could do better if she put in the effort. Being told if only she could be more like _Jane_. Jane and her bright colored sweaters and the smile she shared with everyone and her straight A’s. Jane had been quite possibly the only person who didn’t compare Emma to herself. She had never quite seemed to understand why Emma was always so… the way she was. Stubborn. An asshole.

Then Emma had run away to Guatemala the minute she had her high school diploma, determined to never return. She’d nearly picked up the phone the first time it rang. Her fingers twitched, preparing to say that yes, she was in her hotel room and ready for her room service to be delivered. But there was a different caller ID. Jane Perkins. 

Huh. That hadn’t happened since the morning of her flight. Jane had come to check on Emma and found her room barren. She’d called in tears. Emma had made the mistake of answering. It had nearly been enough to get her to turn around right then and there. Almost. Instead, Emma hung up before her own tears could start pouring and turned off her phone. When she got off the plane in Guatemala, she had over fifteen missed calls from Jane. 

Jane never told their parents. 

That was probably what impressed Emma the most. She never got calls from them. Quite honestly, they were probably relieved she was gone. Emma couldn’t say she missed them, either.

So she let it ring. Let the voicemail play; Jane was graduating college. 

Emma was happy for her. She tried to be, anyway. It was mostly another reason to never go back to Hatchetfield. Another thing Jane had that she didn’t. Emma didn’t particularly care for herself, but she knew that the minute someone drew attention to it, she would care. It wasn’t as if she felt like she had to compare herself to Jane. Everyone else did, and she felt the need to defend herself.

She deleted the voicemail as soon as it had finished playing. Jane’s words hung in the air, bouncing around her head. She had a boyfriend. That Tom Houston, who was probably still in love with Becky _fucking_ Barnes and was just using Jane to get over her. 

It was stupid, but the last words in particular wouldn’t leave Emma alone. They were simple. She hadn’t heard them in a long time. Hadn’t heard them from her parents for most of her childhood. Had probably heard them mostly from Jane, actually.

Emma kind of hated that three words were enough to get her staring at the wall for the rest of the day, trying to make the pain go away. The words weren’t even a big deal.

I love you.

But they kept haunting her. 

She had a dream that night, of Jane. She was gloating about her perfect life, her perfect college degree, her perfect parents that loved her. Emma knew it wasn’t the ‘real’ Jane.

It still hurt.

So she ignored the call. Kept backpacking, kept taking risks that gradually got bigger. Forgetting her seatbelt, not bothering to correct the mistake once she’d noticed. Noticing halfway up the mountain that her harness wasn’t strapped in properly. Letting it slide. If she died, who would even miss her?

Emma knew exactly who would miss her, but that didn’t mean she had to think about it.

The second call came after three more years. Jane was getting married. Tom fucking Houston had proposed, and for some damn reason, Jane had said yes.

Emma had picked up that time, spouted some shit about letting Tom Houston fill her bed with his farts for the rest of her life. Jane had laughed, and it made Emma mad.

She’d said it again when they hung up.

_I love you._

Emma had panicked and hung up. Felt bed afterward that she hadn’t said it back.

She had often pondered on the difference between Guatemala and Hatchetfield. Hatchetfield was much louder. Even when she was hiding and trying to be alone, she was always surrounded by people. The loudest it got in Guatemala was her hotel room at night when the deafening silence was broken by the people loudly fucking a room over. The bus she took to the backpacking trails she walked with the failing engine that was so damn loud. Hatchetfield was filled with gossiping people and whispers. Guatemala was mostly silence that was so loud it made Emma want to scream.

She sometimes wasn’t sure if anyone would even hear if she did scream.

The next call came a year later. Emma actually debated picking up or not. She could pick it up and have a conversation with someone who actually cared. But there was always the chance that when it came time to say goodbye Jane would say the words again, and Emma would panic and opt to hang up instead of _getting herself together_ and saying them back to the _one person_ she actually meant them to.

She let it ring out. Listened to the voicemail as she rocked back and forth on her bed. The sound of Jane’s voice was soothing, and it helped more than Emma would care to admit.

The news that brought upon the phone call was considerably less soothing. Jane had signed on a mortgage. She’d bought her house. Checked another thing off her list. That was distressing enough.

Then came the real concerning news. Jane took a deep breath. Let out something that was somewhere between a laugh and a cry.

“You’d laugh at me for being nervous to tell you,” she said, sounding like she was smiling. “I’m pregnant.”

That stilled Emma in her bed. _Pregnant?_ From Tom fucking Houston? She didn’t know what to make of that. She knew that kids were on Jane's list. It just… somehow hadn’t occurred to her that Jane had reached that step. Hell, she still felt like she was getting a handle on herself, and Jane was having a _kid_?

A few months later Emma learned that his name was Tim. His birthday was March fourth. Jane sounded the most urgent she ever had when she asked Emma to come meet her nephew.

“I want you to be in his life,” was what she said. Emma was pretty sure she wanted that, too. She just wasn’t willing to go back to Hatchetfield. There was probably only one thing that would ever get her to go back, and that wasn’t going to happen in a million years. Jane was living the life she deserved, and she was going to live it for a long, long time. Because if Jane didn’t live forever, what would happen to Emma? Jane was hardly a saint, so what did that make her?

Emma had the name tattooed on her back, small and obscure enough that it would normally be covered. She knew it was there, though, and could run a hand over the spot where she knew the ink was. Tim. Tim Tim _Tim_. It wasn’t a bad name. Short. It didn’t take very long to get the word printed onto her skin forever. It was an easy thing to repeat until the urge to just _let the knife slip_ went away.

Calls came less frequently as the years passed. Jane usually called on Christmas. The time difference wasn't vast, but Jane was aware of it anyway, always calling sometime between early afternoon and evening. Emma still usually didn’t pick up. 

Weirdly enough, Emma came to enjoy the phone calls. She had had a bad year, and spent a lot of it inside, in bed and not quite with the will to get herself to stand up. Jane’s call was something to look forward to. Tim was seven, she knew. She kinda looked forward to the updates on the kid. One year he had asked to say hello. It was dumb, but Emma had nearly cried at the sound of his lispy little kid voice.

She wasn’t really aware of the days passing. It was always summer in Guatemala, and Emma had long got over the lack of snow on Christmas. It enabled her to be unaware of what month it was, once enough of them passed. She was pretty sure it was December. It could have been January, maybe even November. She hadn’t looked at a calendar since September, but she was pretty sure October was over. Her spooky season tingle had gone away, leaving nothing but the dark and emptiness.

When her phone rang, she felt what was probably the first emotion she’d had in months. Jane was calling! It must have been Christmas, that was it. She didn’t even bother to check the caller ID. Nobody else would call, it had to be Jane.

“Hey, Janie,” she said, a ghost of a smile stretching across her lips. It was probably a smile. Emma hadn’t done that since last Christmas, she couldn’t be sure.

The person crying on the other end hesitated. “Emma?”

That wasn’t Jane. Why weren’t they Jane? Emma’s usual scowl returned. “Tom?” _Tom fucking Houston._ What did he want? Why the hell was he crying?

“Emma, there’s… there’s been an accident.”

“What does that mean?” Her voice was hoarse from disuse. It sounded weak. Emma hated it. She put an effort into being louder the next time. “What the hell does that mean?”

Tom was really crying, wasn’t he? “We were on our way home, and this car just came straight through the red light.”

Tears were spilling over Emma’s cheeks. Tom couldn’t be saying what the dread in the pit of her stomach was telling her he was saying. 

“Jane didn’t make it.”

Tom’s voice cracked when he said it. Emma could hear him crying distantly, as if it was a vague and already fading memory. What she remembered better was the feeling as if she were falling. No. She’d already fallen. This was rock bottom. This was how it felt to no longer be falling. At a standstill. Giving God the middle finger. Totally fucked.

Emma reached for her jacket and shoes, already preparing to hang up. The words slipped out just before she hung up the phone. The words she sincerely hoped Tom never repeated to anyone, or used as evidence to make her go see a shrink.

_“It was supposed to be me.”_

Emma had stolen some poor stranger’s bike to get to the airport. Her backpack was hurriedly packed, things shoved in left and right. Hatchetfield wasn’t her destination, exactly. She’d spent the first eighteen years of her life trying to get out, she was hardly going to go back and reform herself now.

Guatemala simply wasn’t big enough for the both of them. Emma, and the shadow of Jane she could feel hovering over her shoulder everywhere she went.

She really hadn’t meant to go back. It was just where her feet took her. She slammed her thinning wad of cash down on the table, startling the employee. When they asked where she needed to go, Emma hardly had to think before responding.

“Anywhere.”

The employee appeared puzzled, but looked at their computer screen awhile, clicking and typing.

“We have a seat on a plane for Clivesdale that leaves in an hour.”

Emma had to put a conscious effort into biting back a loud and sincere _FUCK CLIVESDALE_ , opting to instead nod and hand out the correct amount of cash.

She’d landed in Clivesdale, and realized she didn’t really have anywhere better to go. She didn’t really have anywhere else to go. She could move back to Hatchetfield and avoid dying there, couldn’t she? She didn’t have to stay. No ties. No Jane.

So it felt strange to have somebody care so much. Emma didn’t have to grip knives so tightly when she held them anymore. Somewhere between _Paul_ and realizing maybe she was worth a shit made her want to live a little more. There were still hard days. Days when the only thing that could get her out of bed was Paul carrying her to the couch. The hard days were easier with him there. He was never annoying about it. 

“Is today a good day, or a bad day?” He murmured into her ear.

It was a nice way to wake up. Emma liked when he woke her up that way. It sometimes had an influence on whether the day turned out to be good or bad. “Good day, dummy,” she whispered back, a smile that she knew from experience was real stretching across her lips. She reached for Paul and kissed him. 

It was an ordinary thing for two engaged people to do. Yet Emma still felt a little flitter whenever they did it. Paul protested into her mouth, parting them with a wagging finger.

“Not yet.”

Emma rolled her eyes, curling into his side. “C’mon, don’t make me wait three whole hours.”

“Think how much better it’ll be,” Paul reasoned, sitting up in bed and wiping his face. “The build-up of the anticipation. You’ll want to kiss me so bad. It’ll be brilliant.”

“Not if I have to sit through that whole long ceremony staring at your pretty face.”

“It won’t be pretty.”

Emma sat up, alarmed at the thought that Paul didn’t find himself pretty.

“It’ll be all splotchy ‘cause I won’t be able to stop crying.” He was smirking at her alarm.

“Asshole.” She flipped him off and laid back into her blankets.

“You love me.” Paul leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, dressed in a bathrobe. “And I gotta go. Really, we’re stretching it just by sleeping in the same bed last night. Bill looked like he was going to kill me when I told him.”

Emma sat up for a second time, leaning back on her pillows. “He’s really excited for this, isn’t he?”

Paul grinned. “Nearly cried when I asked him to be my best man.”

“Liar. He so cried.”

“Okay, yeah. Only a little, though.” 

“It’s sweet, Paul. It’s nice that he cares.” Emma couldn’t imagine asking Zoey to be her maid of honor. Harder to imagine was Zoey saying yes. Nora was also definitely out of the question.

“I know.” Paul smiled, and put his room key into his pocket. “I’m lucky to have him. See you in three hours, Emma Matthews, my beautiful almost-wife.”

“It’s still Perkins,” Emma said, grinning. “You really think I’m the name-changing type? We can’t afford that shit.”

“Not really,” Paul said. “It makes me feel nice inside though, and you make a lot of empty threats, so I figured I’d risk it.”

“You better watch it, mister.” Emma fixed him with a warning point. “You’re gonna go and spill the beans to someone and lose all my street cred.”

“You lost it the minute you got down on one knee and offered me that ring pop.”

“You lose yours every time you take it out of that drawer you hide it in and smile at it,” Emma shot back.

Paul laughed, smiling for her. “Fair enough. Have fun. Don’t be late, or I think Charlotte might have a heart attack.”

Paul closed the door, laughing again as Emma spoke, long and drawled out. “Me? Late? Never.”

The door had barely shut when Emma’s phone buzzed on the table beside the bed. Alice Woodward.

_dad says paul’s up you’d better not be late_  
_emma i know you’re seeing these paul would never leave while you're still sleeping_  
_get your ass out of bed pls_

Emma sighed, and put her phone down. There was a long, wonderful day ahead of her.

Fiancee might have been strange, but it _did not_ compare to wife. Emma learned that in the days to come. There was an air around it, a message sent to all those around. She was Paul’s wife. Paul was her husband. 

It was weird. ‘Good weird’ was a phrase Emma thought could accurately describe most of the time she spent with Paul. Being a wife was nice, as long as it was Paul that Emma was married to.

The day was an emotional blur. It was filled with people crying and heartfelt speeches that induced more crying and _Paul_. Their hands only parted when Paul danced with Alice and Emma danced with Bill. His face might have been a little splotchy, but Emma still thought he looked pretty.

The highlight, though, was getting in bed afterwards. Not the sex, though Emma had nothing to say to shame it. Just the plain softness and intimacy of lying next to him in bed, knowing he was her husband and she his wife.

“I love you.”

Paul smiled as he said the words. They were familiar coming out of his mouth, had been for a little over a year. Emma still liked hearing them. It made her heart swell each time. The scene was nice; both Paul’s words and the domesticity of the moment. Moonlight spilled through the windows, casting light upon Paul’s gently smiling features, and the wrinkled white blankets on their bed.

Emma smiled. The words were getting easier to say. Especially when she meant them. “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> it's my fic and i get to decide that alice and emma would be the best of friends
> 
> *i made this a series because they take place in the same timeline i don't currently have plans to write more, but i didn't plan on writing more after the proposal so we'll see where this goes


End file.
